Cling
by BendyStrawBunny
Summary: Fideo is overcome by memories of his childhood as he dwells on self-pity after being fired from his job. Pre-ouatim, right before El comes for his guitar


Fideo wasn't a mean drunk.  
  
He didn't stumble around beating women and puking in alleyways like they did in the movies. That just wasn't him.   
  
Fideo was a subdued drunk.   
  
He sat slouched in a heavy green chair, low to the ground. His legs slumped out in front of him and his arms were carelessly sprawled out on the arm rests, his left hand cradling the dull weight of a metal canteen.   
  
Wafts of singing came from downstairs, Lorenzo's voice danced through the cracks in the door and paraded around the room. But Fideo was so far in his own little world that he barely heard a thing.   
  
His eyes gazed straight ahead, staring seemingly intently at the wooden door before him, but his mind's eye was far from it..  
  
"Fideo! Fideo! Get the ball!"  
  
A young Fideo, only 13 years of age, ran sprinting down the road, his sneakers smacking the brick pavement as he chased after the soccer ball.   
  
When he caught up he whipped around and kicked the ball lightly upwards with the tip of his shoe. He angled his foot and bounced it a few times on the side of his heel.   
  
"Aw, knock it off will ya, man? Stop showin' off!"  
  
Fideo laughed and drop kicked the ball back into the game.   
  
His team was losing 4 to 5, if they could just make another goal before the sun--  
  
"Boys!" a voice rang out from somewhere above their heads. "You get inside before it gets dark!"   
  
Fideo lifted his head and shielded his eyes from the sun that was quickly setting. He saw a short woman, leaning out of her top-story window, wiping her hands on her white apron, probably somebody's mother.   
  
Fideo turned away, sighing. They'd never get to finish a game if the sun kept setting so early. The boys said their goodbyes, and ran off to their homes and waiting families.   
  
Fideo reached his doorstep and called out as his fiddled the door open. "You guys wait 'til tomorrow! You're not gonna get off so easy next time!"  
  
"Yeah right, Fideo, we'll see!" he heard the shout of his friend as he opened the large wooden door of his home.  
  
His jovial mood ended abruptly as he passed over the threshold. There was an uneasy feeling in the air. Even a boy as young as Fideo could feel the tense mood hanging in the air around him.   
  
He opened his mouth wide to shout out that he was home when he felt a cold hand clamp around the lower half of his face.   
  
He tried to yell out but the figure that had attacked him turned him around, putting a finger to his lips. His eyes wide he lowered his hand.  
  
" Carl?"  
  
His brother put his finger back up and made a quick shush. His grabbed Fideo's arm and pulled him up the stairs, careful to make only the smallest, softest steps.   
  
They had only reached the half-way mark when two more figures came bursting into the hall they had just left.   
  
"700 pesos you lost, Pedro! Seven hundred! Where the fuck do you think we are going to get that kind of money, huh? I am so sick of this bullshit!"  
  
"Don't tell me what to do with my own money, alright? I can do as I damn well please! I earned it, breaking my back while you're here all day laying around the house, you lazy bitch!"  
  
Fideo eyes widened in shock. Who were these people? He quickly turned to Carl for an explanation.   
  
Carl had frozen, his hand still clinging to Fideo's arm, his feet glued to the stair case. Fideo tugged on the sleeve that ran the length of his older brother's arm. "Carl, Carl," he whispered. "What's going--"   
  
A hideously loud smack echoed up the stairwell and Fideo's attention snapped back to his parents.   
  
His mother stood, propped up against the wall, her hand cupping the left side of her face, where the skin had turned bright red.   
  
Carl's hand dropped from Fideo's arm.   
  
Their father turned his head and glared at the two boys, Fideo jumped back, startled. "You... leave. Get out of my sight."   
  
Fideo's mind was swimming, but before he could properly register anything he was dragged once again by his brother, this time tears burning his eyes as he ran.   
  
Fideo's hazy decent into his own memories was threatened by the opening of the door in front of him.   
  
"First set's over." Lorenzo said as the door snapped shut behind him. He stopped and faced Fideo, his face slightly hopeful. His expression fell as he saw the state his best friend was in.   
  
Lorenzo sighed and crossed the room as he peeled the jacket off his shoulders. "Sloth is a sin you know, amigo."  
  
So is vanity, compadre. Thought Fideo as he watched Lorenzo fix his hair in the mirror hanging on the closet door. But he couldn't muster enough energy to speak it aloud.   
  
Lorenzo shook his head when he didn't hear a reply. He picked his guitar up off the ground next to the door and faced Fideo one last time before he left the room, "Everything's going to be alright." he spoke very softly, questioning whether or not Fideo was even listening.   
  
Fideo let out a huge sigh as the door clicked shut. He lifted the canteen to his mouth and took a large gulp of rum.   
  
He dropped the metal container into his lap and tilted his head back, closing his eyes.   
  
So he'd lost his job. That's fine. There'd be other jobs. Other pay-offs. So long as he could fill his cup, Fideo was fine.   
  
He took another swig of drink, and swallowed it, letting the warm liquid burn down this throat.   
  
He lifted a hand slowly to his head and ran his fingers through his hair. Who was he kidding? There was nothing left after this. How could he get another job? The only things he knew were music.. and drinking.   
  
And apparently he wasn't even a good enough musician to be a man-whore.   
  
So drinking it was.   
  
He grasped the canteen tightly in his hands, as a drowning man grasps a life-preserver as he falls through sinking waters.   
  
When nothing made sense in his life, alcohol as always there. Even when happy parents fought, and men lost their only source of lively support, it was there. When everything changed and he longed for normalcy again, alcohol was always the same. He clung to the canteen, and drank to lingering hope. 


End file.
